


do you even art?

by snowspring (scoups_ahoy)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, M/M, Sexual Tension, also art hoe johnny, art hoe ten, in the second part!, johnten are dumb and sicheng is tired, lowkey crack because i can, please don't take this seriously omg, volleyball jock johnny, yukhei is oblivious bless his heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:40:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26247298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoups_ahoy/pseuds/snowspring
Summary: ten hates jocks.  he really just can't stand them (well, except yukhei).  he especially can't stand jocks that are somehow obnoxiously good at art too.  it just doesn't make sense; people shouldn't be allowed to be athleticandartistic.  it's not fair.  enter johnny suh: volleyball master as well as still-life extraordinaire.  he spills his drink on ten's favorite shirt at a party and is also stupidly, annoyingly handsome.  might also be into ten, he's not sure.so when johnny asks him, a bit sarcastically, to model nude for him for their final project, ten agrees without a second thought and makes a plan.  there's no way he's letting some jock outdo him in the one thing that's his. so he’ll flirt his way under johnny suh’s skin, fluster him the way he's good at, sabotage his project, and walk away with the highest grade in the class.easy.if it wasn't for johnny suh's stupid big, brown eyes and sexy athlete hands.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 11
Kudos: 128





	do you even art?

**Author's Note:**

> heyo! this is my first nct fic and while i've been a nctizen for a decent amount of time, i apologize if this is a bit ooc; seventeen are my forte. that being said, this has been so much fun to write! i adore johnten and have been wanting to write something for them for some time. highkey inspired by ten's art hoe instagram aesthetic, especially lately, so we're all grateful for that.
> 
> enjoy! <3

**one.**

“Tell me again why I let you drag me here.”

Above the heads of their drunken, grinding peers, above the smell of weed and sweat and cheap perfume, above Ten’s irritation always having to make itself known (he _does_ have a reputation, thank you very much), Yukhei huffs a sigh Ten can’t really hear over the pulsing music. But he hears it in his head, Yukhei does it so often. It’s equal parts disappointed, judgmental, and fond, always done with the ghost of a smile because no matter how hard Yukhei tries, he can’t be mad at Ten.

“Because you need to get out of the studio every once in a while,” he half-shouts, “and have some fun. Fun with people that don’t have paint on their clothes at any given moment.”

Ten makes a face at the giant freshman he calls a friend and pushes between a group of screaming kids (kids - they’re probably eighteen) to make his way over to him, deciding not to point out that he’s got paint on his clothes at this given moment. He’d really rather not have to yell everything he says if he can help it. “You really don’t know me then if you think some pre-semester kegger is my idea of fun.”

“No, because I _do_ know your idea of fun and it involves wine and isolation.”

“Sounds like a perfect night,” Ten mutters to himself and above the music, Yukhei can’t hear him.

“Besides,” and he not so gracefully starts to push Ten through the throngs of students in front of them, deeper into the alcohol-soaked, smoke-tinged maw of the beast, “you need to meet some new people. Those art students are all kinda assholes and - “

“Hey, I’m one of those assholes thank you very much,” he snaps back, eyes in front as he tries to dodge half-empty bottles of Bud Light and frat boys stinking of beer and body odor. That’s it, this is the only party he’ll go to this year, fucking Yukhei and his stupid big doe eyes.

He hears Yukhei’s sigh again in his head. “I want you to meet some of my friends, okay? You’ll like them, I promise.”

Doubtful, but he doesn’t say it out loud. He knows there’s no chance in hell he’ll like any of Yukhei’s friends, big, dumb jocks the lot of them. It’s a miracle he even likes Yukhei (how could he not? He’d found the kid wandering the art department a few weeks ago, at freshman orientation, on the verge of tears because he was lost and couldn’t find his history class - turns out they’ll have the same history class Mondays and Wednesdays, 10 am) but everyone likes Yukhei. He’s the only one of the jock kids that isn’t… you know, jocky. Whether it’s basketball, football, soccer, volleyball, swimming - they’re all dicks. Ten hasn’t met a single one of them that’s worth his time.

Yukhei being the only exception.

Which is why Ten’s allowing him to push him through the wall of gleeful students towards a sliding glass door that leads outside. Finally, fresh air. Whatever awaits him out there he doesn’t give a shit because at least he’ll breathe in oxygen that doesn’t smell like Axe or shitty beer. Whatever awaits him out there will be worth it because there’s nothing like a crisp, Chicago autumn night, or so he’s come to discover.

But the moment they step outside, Yukhei hollers and the group of big, dumb jocks all turns around. They _swarm_ and Ten ducks out of the way at the last moment, stepping to the side as Yukhei is embraced by a thousand men that are all bigger and taller than him somehow.

 _(Americans,_ he scoffs inwardly.)

Okay, maybe that’s an understatement. But suddenly Ten feels out of place and not just because he’s an art student without an athletic bone in his body. He could go for one of those shitty beers right now, give him something else to focus on besides the mass of brainless hunks before him, yelling so loudly he can’t even make out what they’re saying.

Maybe he could go back inside and try his luck, see if Kun made it to this stupid thing. Yukhei probably wouldn’t even miss him, now that he’s surrounded by his little friends - so hell, maybe Ten could just go back to the studio. After a lengthy shower, of course. He’d really rather not violate the purity of his art sanctum with the smells he’s collected tonight.

(He tries not to think about all the other students that frequent it, too, and shudders.)

He hears his name being called and looks up, to his deep, all-consuming horror, to find the horde of jocks ambling towards him, Yukhei leading them. He’s got his arm around the shoulders of one of them, one of the ones miraculously taller than him, but the slope of his eyelids and the tell-tale red in his cheeks tells Ten that he’s obviously not white. And that is surprising in and of itself because Ten’s under the impression that, by now in his junior year, he’s made friends with - or at least made himself known to - all of the Asian kids on their campus.

But not this one. And shit, he’s handsome.

His smile, toothy and gummy, makes his eyes close almost completely to the point where it’d be endearing if the noise around them wasn’t getting to Ten. Big nose, sharp chin, dark, disheveled hair that Ten’s certain wouldn’t work on anyone else but on him - on him, it does. He’s impossibly tall and broad and clutching tight to a red, plastic cup, not at all Ten’s type if his stupid laugh is anything to go off of. Somehow it echoes off nothing and for a moment, as this big, dumb jock gets nearly too close for comfort, it’s all Ten can hear. It reminds him of Yukhei, annoying in that charming kind of way. Like an overexcited puppy that doesn’t know when to stop.

And then there’s something warm and smelly pouring down Ten’s shirt as the cup in his hand tips forward.

All Ten can smell is the awful odor of Bud Light mixed with god knows what else as he’s thoroughly soaked in the concoction and he hears the offended squeak that leaves his lips.

And the jock _laughs._

Laughs.

It’s as dumb as it was maybe two minutes ago, except now it’s far more infuriating in Ten’s anger; grating, annoying. He hates the sound of it and reaches out with both hands braced against a strong chest and shoves. The jock stops laughing as he stumbles back into the mass of boys - Ten hears Yukhei’s stupid sigh in his mind but he really doesn’t give a shit right now - and for a moment he just looks at Ten.

And Ten looks at him, anger seething in his veins because he already did _not_ want to be here and now he’s got alcohol on his favorite fucking shirt -

“Dickhead,” he bites out, highly aware of the amused, drunk gazes on him, on them, watching this unfold. His face heats up in embarrassment and he’s certain his cheeks are turning red and that pisses him off the most; that this fucking jock is getting such a reaction out of him. “Watch where you spill.”

“So what?” the jock shoots back, Yukhei’s arm still around his shoulders, like a warning. But a warning to whom, Ten’s not certain. “It’s already got paint all over it - “

“That’s a stylistic choice, you uncultured cretin!” On a roll now, unable to stop and probably going to regret this in the morning, he lets out a noise that sounds too close to a snarl. “Look at you, in that stupid fucking letterman. You wouldn’t know a damn thing about fashion if it came up and bit you on the dick!”

Something shines in the jock’s eyes, something that makes Ten’s stomach curl and he blames everything on the obvious alcohol the guy’s had, on the stupid party atmosphere in general, on Yukhei’s puppy-dog eyes. “Wanna bet?” the jock asks, voice low and lascivious and Ten’s eyes narrow.

But he doesn’t even dignify that with a response. Just shoves past the group of them, ignoring Yukhei calling after him.

He’s definitely never going to another college party again.

Thankfully, the night was somewhat salvageable: Ten threw the shirt in the washing machine and it came out smelling like those scented bead things Sicheng loves so much. Not a drop of beer - or whatever was in that cup - staining it. But by the time he was finished (stupid dorm rules about watching over your laundry) it was way too late to head to the studio and Ten vowed to let Yukhei know how displeased he was on Monday, the first official day of classes.

But then Monday comes and Ten’s looking up into Yukhei’s sad eyes and he can’t bring himself to say anything mean to this lovable puppy of a man. He just huffs a sigh and allows himself to be maneuvered to the second row of seats and he and Yukhei sit down.

“Is your shirt, like, stained now?” Yukhei asks as he tugs out his laptop.

“Not egregiously so,” Ten responds, leaning back in his seat as he watches the lecture hall fill with students.

“E-egre…?”

Ten sighs again but it’s all fondness as he reaches up to tousle Yukhei’s hair. “No, my shirt is fine. No thanks to your stupid friend.”

“He said he’s really sorry,” Yukhei murmurs. “That he wants to apologize to you if you’ll let him.”

Ten rolls his eyes and gets busy pulling out and booting up his own laptop. A pair of big, warm eyes flash through his mind, a laugh that isn’t as obnoxious as he remembers ringing through his ears, and he blames the passage of time. “Yeah I bet he’s sorry. Does he even remember what happened?”

“Don’t be mean. Johnny’s really cool, okay? It was an accident, that’s all.”

Johnny. What a name. Of course. Ten smirks to himself. “Either way, I’m still not thrilled. That’s my favorite shirt, Hei.”

“Then don’t wear it to a college party!”

He makes a face at the insinuation that this was anything but the jock’s - Johnny, apparently - fault but their professor walks in before he can argue it further. He stews in his anger throughout the rest of the class though, thinking about the way Johnny had laughed at him.

What an _ass._ God, he hopes he never has to see that stupid, infuriatingly handsome face of his ever again.

Two hours later, Ten’s convinced that the universe hates him. A scheduling mishap makes him almost late to his 12 o’clock art class - and the only seat available is next to a very tall, very familiar jock.

If he didn’t need this class and if this wasn’t the only time he could take it, he’d turn around and leave without a look back.

But he in fact does need this class so he tries his best to swallow his pride and his anger as he stalks over and slams his bag onto the table (thankfully his laptop is back home in his dorm room because not even that would’ve stopped him from his usual dramatics).

The jock - maybe Ten should at least try and remember his name (that’s funny) - glances up at him and then goes rather comically pale. “Oh shit it’s _you.”_

“So you do remember,” Ten snaps as he unceremoniously drops into his chair, back rigid as he tries to prove a point - that he might be small but he’s not to be trifled with, no sir.

He’s not sure if that point will make it through to some big, dumb jock’s head but one can only hope.

“Of course I do,” Johnny says, voice lowering as their professor comes to the front to start class. “I feel really bad, okay?”

“Yeah that’s exactly what Yukhei said.” He snorts a bit. “I don’t think I believe it.”

“Well then that’s your too bad. I am a delight.”

Ten snorts again. “That remains to be seen.” And with that he turns his attention to their professor and Johnny doesn’t bug him for the rest of class, thank god.

However, Ten does find his mind - and his eyes - wandering from time to time. Why hasn’t he met Johnny before? He’d remember meeting someone like him, especially on this campus. There’s not a lot of super tall Asian guys hanging around (Yukhei is, like, the only exception), and Johnny is… handsome, even though just thinking that makes a little bit of bile jump up Ten’s throat. Definitely handsome, he thinks with a sour taste in his mouth. He watches Johnny’s jaw muscles move beneath his skin as he bites his lip, as he chews on his pen (gross), as he murmurs something to his seatmate. He watches Johnny drum his long fingers on the tabletop, watches the way his arm flexes under the irritatingly tight sweater he’s got on…

Ten doesn’t realize he’s all tensed up until class ends and Johnny leaves and he exhales and all the stress leaves his body in that single breath.

As time goes on, Ten comes to hate Mondays and Wednesdays. Really, just noon. The rest of those days are fine - history with Yukhei in the morning, he and Sicheng usually eat lunch together, and then he spends those afternoons and evenings in the studio. But it’s just that hour where he has to deal with big, dumb, stupid, infuriating, fucking Johnny Suh.

Somehow the captain of the university’s male volleyball team ends up being a photography whiz as well as a master at freehand _and_ still-life.

Really, he’s second-only to Ten in their class and that only makes things worse. Like, a _million_ times worse.

Whenever Ten thinks he’s getting the highest marks in the class, he sees Johnny Suh’s score right next to his.

Whenever he thinks his art is being recognized by the university, he sees Johnny Suh’s drawings right next to his.

Whenever he walks into that class early and thinks he’s made it, that he’s not gonna have to deal with Johnny Suh’s stupid fucking face and stupid fucking cologne that _doesn’t_ smell like a high school locker room - Johnny Suh walks in and sits down right next to him. Even though there are no assigned seats, even though Ten sits somewhere new every single class - Johnny Suh is always right there.

Even when Ten changes seats before class officially starts (since he and Johnny both get there early), Johnny _still_ follows him, quipping some dumb, half-assed excuse about “oh I can’t see the board from here”.

And it drives him _insane._

(He’d gone to his counselor in mid-October, after several agonizing weeks of this, and begged her to help him find another time when he could take this class - even at fucking midnight would be better - and she looked at him with a raised eyebrow and said, “So… one of your classmates is chasing you around the room?” like he was a goddamn kindergartener.)

So at that point, Ten decides to just accept his fate: he’s being stalked by his new - and only - nemesis, Johnny Suh (solely confined to their singular art class though). But he’s not gonna go down without a fight.

He makes it his personal mission, mental and physical health be damned, to one-up Johnny in every single thing he does. It leaves Yukhei fixing him with worried glances when he shows up to every history class with a venti iced americano with eleven espresso shots in hand. It leaves Sicheng leaving him extra breakfast and staying with him through their dinner meal to make sure he actually eats something. And, best of all, it leaves Johnny Suh as frustrated as Ten feels every time he even has to be in his presence.

Is this all a bit juvenile? Oh _very_ much so. But it’s the most fun Ten’s had in his entire college career. Besides, he’s never created better art. In pushing himself to best Johnny Suh, he ends up besting himself too.

So he keeps it going.

And by finals, everyone in the art department is seemingly aware of their rivalry. By finals, it’s turned from playful banter and petty behavior to life and death stakes. Do or die.

Okay, not really but that’s what it feels like.

It’s thrilling in a way Ten’s not used to.

Late November, day before the Thanksgiving break, their professor gives them the guidelines for their final project. It’s mostly up to them - they just need to turn in an original art piece, a painting, that highlights one of the styles they’ve discussed and explored up to this point. Easy, Ten decides. Painting is his comfort, his home, and he’ll be finished with his project by next week.

Which is a good thing, because as they’re packing up to leave, Johnny looks him straight in the eyes and asks, “Do you want to model for my project?”

There’s only humor in his voice.

His gaze is dark and sharp, all but begging Ten to agree.

So he does. Looks Johnny straight on, head held high (and not just because this fucker is impossibly tall), and says, “Name a time and place.”

Johnny’s face falls imperceptibly, leading Ten to believe the big, dumb jock never thought he’d say yes.

Oh this is going to be _fun._

They agree to meet the first Monday after Thanksgiving, in the studios on campus. And at the end of this text message (yes, Ten begrudgingly gave Johnny his number), Johnny oh so casually asks, _“how do u feel about dick pics?”_

At which Ten groans in horror, shows the message to a less than impressed Sicheng (who’s graciously letting him stay with his family during their break), and types back, _“depends on who it’s from. if it’s you, i’m good.”_

_“what if it’s UR dick pic?”_

_“you wanna paint my dick pic? that’s your final project?”_

He can all but see Johnny’s dumb grin in his head and it makes him want to throttle something. _“no no no i mean kinda but like… michelangelo style.”_

It takes a moment for his words to register in Ten’s mind but when they do he’s equal parts scandalized, flattered, and enraged. Johnny Suh wants to paint him nude. Naked. For his final fucking project.

Obviously, he’s not expecting Ten to agree to this, just like he _obviously_ wasn’t expecting him to agree to model in the first place. But there’s no way Ten can say no. Not if he wants the upper hand he’s been craving since he saw Johnny Suh sitting in his class. So, he agrees.

 _“cool,”_ Johnny types back. _“see you monday.”_

Monday morning, Ten is thrumming with what he can only describe as excitement and he’s not sure why. He’s hoping his posing naked will derail Johnny and his seemingly unshakeable confidence because… well, how would one call himself a slut in a nice way? Ten’s comfortable with his body. To say the least. He knows he’s hot and he knows how to get a man under his thumb with a simple look. Though he’s never flirted like that completely naked before (that usually comes afterwards) so it’s going to be all too easy.

He’ll flirt his way under Johnny Suh’s skin, sabotage his project, and walk away with the highest grade in the class.

Easy.

Sicheng calls him a sociopath when he brings it up.

But whatever. Ten’s made up his mind. No big, dumb jock is outscoring him on an art final.

(He doesn’t tell Yukhei though. At this point in the semester he’s come to see Yukhei as his annoying little brother and he doesn’t want to destroy the idolizing image Yukhei has of Johnny Suh. He must admit, it’s cute in some way, how he follows Johnny around like a little puppy dog.

_So see, Sicheng? I’m not a sociopath after all.)_

Johnny doesn’t look at him in class that day; just sits next to him and listens too intently to whatever it is their professor is droning on about. Which is the best thing that’s happened in class all year and if Ten knew agreeing to pose nude for him would result in Johnny ignoring him, he would’ve done it way back in September.

And then Monday evening comes.

Ten goes to the studio at the agreed upon time and finds Johnny setting up an easel and canvas. He’s in comfortable clothes emblazoned with their university’s logo, dark hair wet from a shower and hanging in his eyes… he’s achingly handsome and Ten hates that. Has since the moment he looked into those deep brown eyes with six types of alcohol staining his favorite shirt. So with a huff mostly to himself he directs his attention to Johnny’s supplies. The canvas he’s chosen looks like it’ll translate to scale fairly well - it’s maybe thirty-six inches tall, Ten guesses - and resting on the floor beside him is a bag that no doubt carries his materials.

And Ten realizes that, after all these weeks together, he has no idea how Johnny works. Will the project be fast, completed in maybe a couple days? Or is this gonna be an all-month thing, with Ten deigning himself to come here every day for, like, three weeks? Especially since they’re battling with his volleyball schedule too, with it being championship season now or whatever, Ten doesn’t really care. He just knows it’ll probably cut into their time together, dragging it out into an unbearable amount of time.

He brings this up to Johnny without so much as a greeting, prompting him to scowl in return. “Well hello to you too,” he snaps, looking over from where he runs a broad hand down the smooth, empty expanse of the canvas.

It’s an action that’s so innocent, so compulsory, and yet it makes Ten’s stomach curl in a way he’s not used to around Johnny Suh.

He blames the nerves of posing nude for his only enemy. It’s bound to mess with his head even a little bit. “Well?” he demands, trying to put the unwelcome arousal away. “How long is this gonna take? I have my own project to do too, you know.”

“Chill out, okay?” he huffs as he leans down from the stool he’s perched on to take out a few pencils. “Jesus. It’s not like we’re doing this all day every day. Besides, if you don’t wanna do this why’d you agree to it?”

Ten makes a face when their eyes meet. “Who said I didn’t wanna do it?”

Johnny holds his gaze for a long, painful moment, and Ten realizes how easy it’d be to just lose himself in his deep, brown eyes. Until Johnny looks away, turning back to his supplies. He picks up one of the pencils and stretches out his long fingers -

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says quietly, without looking at him.

And Ten doesn’t waste a moment, especially not on a man like Johnny Suh. He undresses quickly but not without grace, making sure to take his time where it counts. But apparently it’s long enough to warrant Johnny’s irritation; he looks up with his mouth open to say something and then he freezes the moment he sees Ten’s naked body.

For a twenty-one year old college student, Ten is relatively happy with his body. He has his good days and his bad days but as a whole, he’s comfortable with himself. He’s slender yet curvy, petite and pretty; what’s not to like? And he’s _especially_ happy as he watches Johnny Suh not so subtly check him out. Drinking him in with those big brown eyes, the tip of his tongue peeking out to wet his lips for the briefest of moments.

 _So_ easy.

And as Johnny’s gaze slowly reaches his again, Ten’s schooled his face into something passive, if not mildly judgmental. “Done checking me out, Suh?”

He makes a face and then waves his hand towards the space in front of the canvas. “Stand over there.”

“This is your project,” Ten says with a raised brow. “You’ll need to pose me how you want me.” But he does as he’s told; he stands before the canvas as casually as one can ass-naked in front of their mortal enemy and waits for Johnny’s instructions.

He gets up from his stool with a heavy sigh and as he steps closer Ten notes the soft pink blush dusting his face with a bout of wicked glee.

And then their eyes meet once more. Any embarrassment, anything flustered is reserved to his cheeks only apparently; his gaze is sharp and dark. Bordering on predatory, it sends a shiver down Ten’s spine which only serves to make him even more mad; Johnny Suh really shouldn’t be having this effect on him.

He _isn’t._

So, a mere breath from Johnny’s stupid face, he allows himself to be maneuvered into whatever position he’s needed. The entire time he’s highly aware of those big hands on his bare skin, rough and callused in a way Ten’s not used to. Johnny doesn’t have artist hands; he has volleyball hands. Jock hands. But it… it’s kind of nice.

Eventually Johnny huffs a warm sigh that tickles Ten’s neck and he stalks towards the other side of the room to grab another stool. And then they start over from scratch with the posing. It takes another ten minutes for Johnny to find a position he likes but it ends with Ten sort of hunched on the stool in a way that, already, is less than comfortable and really if he was any kind of athletic he would’ve fought Johnny Suh months ago. Especially now because this feels annoyingly punishing. But seeing as how Ten is all brains and zero - literally zero - brawn, he sticks to what he does best.

Less than innocent mind games.

He owns the shit out of this pose, making sure to fix Johnny with a gaze as sensual as he can muster as the other digs into his bag and produces what looks like a white sheet. Yeah, it’s definitely a white sheet and Johnny ignores his gaze as he thrusts the thing into Ten’s grip.

“Hold it over your - well, your dick, but like in a - a sexy way,” he says, less helpful than he thinks he’s being.

But Ten does as he’s asked again, holding the fabric in both hands while letting it drape across his lap. “Why this?”

“I dunno, your dick just doesn’t factor into my vision.”

Ten snorts and maybe, just maybe, a small part of his ego is bruised. “I see. And what exactly is your vision?”

Johnny takes a few steps back and now his eyes are analytical as they roam over his model. For the first time since they started this, Ten feels… uncertain beneath Johnny’s scrutiny. He’s modeled before, in far more compromising positions, but none of the other artists or photographers made him feel like this. Like he has something to lose. Like he has to prove himself.

So far, it’s the most infuriating thing about Johnny Suh. And there’s _a lot_ of infuriating things about Johnny Suh.

“My vision,” he says quietly and his face softens when he meets Ten’s gaze. “My vision is something, I dunno, romantic I guess? Sensual? I don’t know, okay? I’m bad with words. Just be quiet and model, okay? Since you wanna get this done so badly.”

Ten mutters softly under his breath but fixes his position into rigidity and they get started.

Truth be told, there’s something about Johnny Suh in his element like this and Ten wonders if this is anything like how he is on the volleyball courts. Locks of dark hair falling into his eyes, plush lips pursed in concentration, eyes flicking between him and the canvas as he sketches. The room is silent, nothing but their breaths and the sound of graphite on canvas. It’s almost comforting, lulling him into a relaxed state he knows can only be dangerous around Johnny Suh. The kind of relaxed state that might give him a loose tongue. Like pillow talk.

Except he hasn’t been fucked into a mattress. He’s just _modeling._

“You ever done this before?” Johnny asks softly, glancing at him as his pencil pauses.

Ten raises another brow at his version of small talk. “Nude modeling or just regular modeling?”

He shrugs. “Either.”

“I mean, I was a clothes model sort of as a child, back home in Thailand, and then I came here for college and I’ve modeled mostly for artists. Been naked a few times for some boyfriends.”

The comment, posed as something throwaway, was meant to fluster him. But Johnny simply nods. “Well, you’re a natural.” And with that, he gets back to work.

Those are the only words they speak until Johnny sets his pencil down and stretches out his arms and hands with soft little groans that sound a bit too sexual to Ten’s ears. Again, he blames his lack of clothing. It’s got his body calling for something familiar he’d be damned if he gets from Johnny Suh.

“Done with the sketch?” he asks.

Johnny nods. “Do you wanna see it?”

Ten slides from the stool, taking care to slowly stretch out his aching limbs (he’s learned to dissociate while he models for still-life; it aides the whole staying in one position thing) before he wraps the sheet around his body to join Johnny on the other side of the easel. And he can’t help the little impressed noise he makes in the back of his throat. Even though it’s just a rough sketch it’s still at least mildly profound and Ten can make out what he plans to do with it. The outline starts at the curve of Ten’s chin, showing off the end of a facial profile he’s very proud of, and follows the lines of his body down to his legs, one of which is propped up on the stool. Already it’s definitely rather sensual and a part of Ten can’t wait until it’s finished; he’s curious to see how he will look drawn and painted through Johnny’s eyes.

“Do you want to stop tonight?” Johnny asks quietly.

Ten turns to look at him - and like this, sitting down, he’s at a normal, respectable height. Maybe a couple inches taller than Ten. But they’re close enough that it wouldn’t take much to lean in and press a kiss to those full, perfectly curved lips. They’re close enough that Ten feels tipsy, intoxicated; he’s ready to make bad decisions he’ll regret in the morning but right now, in the moment, they’d feel so good. God, Johnny’s eyes even dip to his own lips - and that’s when an idea goes off in Ten’s head.

No, he’s not giving in that easily.

But he does lean in, eyes falling half-lidded… and just when he feels Johnny’s breathing hitch, he pulls away. “I should get going,” he murmurs. “I have an early day tomorrow.”

He’s dressed and gone before Johnny’s even totally packed up, calling out a dismissive, “Text me details for our next meeting!” over his shoulder.

At the dorms, Sicheng is hunched over his laptop at the desk and asks, with tired eyes, how the modeling went.

Ten doesn’t tell him that he’s got butterflies in his stomach; that Johnny’s dark, desirable gaze has left him feeling both loose and knotted all over. Like his body is poised for an attack that will never come.

Instead he inhales, smiles, and says, “Fine.”

They meet five more times over the next few weeks and each visit goes about as well as the first. They argue and butt heads a bit but then descend into silence when it comes to the actual art portion of it. Maybe it’s because he has to stay relatively still but there’s something about nitpicking Johnny during those moments that seems wrong. In those moments, they’re not enemies; they’re artists. Johnny is an artist, creating the vision he sees in his head, translating it to canvas in a way only few people can truly do well. Ten is an artist, expressing sensuality with every part of his body, physically embodying what Johnny has in his brain.

In those moments, they’re equals.

And sometimes they talk. Ten learns that Johnny grew up here in Chicago and has traveled no more than in a seventy-five mile radius except for one Disneyland trip he can hardly remember. He also used to attend classes at a college in Aurora but transferred here last semester because the volleyball program is so much better, which explains why Ten hadn’t really seen him around before their now-infamous meeting at the party. And he tells Johnny that “no my name isn’t actually Ten, you idiot” but that when he came here from Bangkok, no one could pronounce his birth name and he didn’t want some same old, uninspired English name so, since his Romanized name has ten letters, he decided his new name would be “Ten”.

Johnny merely nods, looking like sin with the end of his paintbrush trapped between his teeth like this. “What’s your real name?” His voice is muffled from the brush and he sounds so stupid.

Ten wishes he didn’t find it a teeny bit endearing, and he sighs. “Chittaphon,” he says, trying his best not to mumble.

“Chittaphon,” Johnny says slowly, quietly.

He gets it right on the first try.

Ten pretends like that doesn’t do something to him.

Well, _attempts_ to pretend.

Johnny brings up the tattoos Ten has on their third visit, as he no doubt works on coloring it in. Eyes narrowed, clinical as they study his body, he calls the one on his chest “risky.”

Ten breaks his sensual gaze for a smirk. “What’s risky about a tattoo on my chest?”

He pauses, plush lips pursed as he thinks about it, and then he meets Ten’s gaze with a handsome glimmer in his eyes. “I dunno, nipple infections?”

“You’re so obviously crushing on him, Chittaphon, it’s not even funny.”

Ten looks up from his third ramen bowl of the night to scowl at Sicheng, almost eternally hunched over that laptop of his. It is finals week anyway. But that doesn’t give him the right to slander his best friend and roommate so casually like this. Not even if he was kind enough to make Ten his third bowl when he made some ramen for himself.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, wondering how far playing dumb will get him.

According to the look he’s afforded by Sicheng, not very far. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

He makes a face and then looks down into the opaque bowl of noodles in front of him. If he tries he can barely make out his reflection - sharp angles and tired eyes. “I am _hardly_ crushing on Johnny Suh, Sicheng. He’s my enemy. Remember?”

“Enemy.” Sicheng chokes out a gentle laugh, eyes shining. “You’re a twenty-one year old art major, Chittaphon. You don’t _have_ enemies.”

“Well if I did Johnny Suh would be one of them.”

“Then why are you modeling for him?”

Ten sighs heavily, as if explaining this again is the most arduous task he’s ever undertaken. “I already told you.”

“Oh yeah. Your little sociopathic plan. That’s right.” He leans back against the dining table chair with a smirk. “And how’s that going? Have you effectively ruined his project yet?”

He grumbles at his roommate. “Not unless I toss a bucket of paint on it, no. But… I look really good in it so I won’t do that.”

Sicheng laughs again, heartier this time. “Just fuck him and be done with it. You could do a lot worse.”

The thought should be laughable in the least, unbearable at the most. But with the way Johnny’s been looking at him lately, both in class and during their sessions, the energy that surrounds them now… he gives it an infinitesimal thought. Something he wouldn’t have done before Thanksgiving. “I can’t fuck him.”

“And why not?”

This time, it’s explaining what should be an obvious concept that becomes the most arduous task he’s ever undertaken - at least, he sighs like it once more. “It’s the principle of it. We’re supposed to hate each other. Besides, I don’t even want him. Since he’s not reacting the way I thought he would he’s just pissing me off more.”

For a few quiet moments, Sicheng just looks at him quietly. And then he breaks into a wide smile that Ten can’t help but return. “You’re really something else, Chittaphon. Have I ever told you that before?”

“Yeah but you love me.”

“Someone has to.”

Three days before it’s due and a week after Ten finished his own project (a beautifully abstract thing he’s so proud of), Johnny finally, _finally_ completes his. Ten’s sitting on that stool, completely zoning out, when he hears an “oh fuck!” and it jolts him from his empty reverie. He’s about to ask what’s wrong when he cranes his neck over the easel and catches sight of Johnny’s triumphant face.

“Is it done?” he asks rather excitedly, sliding from the stool as he drapes the sheet around his body.

Johnny nods. “I might hate it in the morning but for now… well, come look.”

He pads over on bare feet and assumes his usual, secondary position: standing next to Johnny as they look at the canvas together. And this time, Ten lets out an involuntary gasp when he comes face to face with this piece. It’s simply, utterly beautiful - and not just because he’s the point of focus. No, Johnny Suh is actually incredibly talented. Every brushstroke, every touch of color, every line, every detail feels perfect. Like it belongs right where it’s been done. The lighting makes Ten look like an angel, draped in a flowing white sheet that leaves little to the imagination. But it’s tasteful. Beautiful.

“I hope it’s what you wanted,” Ten says quietly.

“It is.”

There’s something thick in Johnny’s voice, something that makes Ten look over at him and hold his half-lidded gaze. It sends shivers down his spine and in a moment of weakness, head starting to swim with desire he’s tired of fighting, stomach swooping, he lets the sheet drop. It pools around his ankles and for a moment, Johnny follows its descent. And then his eyes slowly, slowly make their way back up Ten’s body. By the time their gazes meet again Ten feels like he’s going to overheat; he can’t take this anymore.

So he leans in and captures Johnny’s mouth in a rough kiss.

There’s a brief moment where he thinks Johnny will push him away, that he’s miscalculated and made a grievous error - and then he feels big, strong hands on his hips, pulling him even closer until Ten all but knocks into the human brick wall that is Johnny Suh. Being manhandled in such a way rips a moan from his throat and Johnny’s tongue slides over his and they’re so close together but it’s not enough and Ten can’t believe he’s doing this - _kissing_ \- Johnny.

But everything about it feels so right. Johnny’s hands are warm and rough as they slide down his bare back, leaving sparks behind; Johnny’s lips are plush and damp as they trail across his jawline, mapping the expanse of his neck with careful, worshipping precision; Johnny’s skin is heated through the sweater he’s got on, and Ten can’t wait to get his hands on him, can’t wait to have him the way he’s been wanting longer than he’d admit. The way he’s been railing against and he’s _so tired._

It all leaves Ten feeling drunk, head swimming as he tries to focus on everything and nothing at all. Something in the back of his mind tells him to stop; is he really going to let this happen with Johnny Suh?

And then their lips meet again in crushing desperation and he presses against Johnny’s strong body, corded with taut, hard muscles, sliding his hands up to cup his face – and he lets go. Forgets about the fact that Johnny Suh is his mortal enemy, forgets that this wasn’t supposed to happen, forgets that he’s not supposed to have a crush on Johnny, isn’t supposed to want him. Because the way Johnny makes him feel, want racing and arcing through his body like liquid heat is addictive. Stubble scratches his palms and he wants to melt into the way Johnny is everything he’s not; big, broad, muscular, rough, coarse.

But then Johnny’s pulling away before he can lose himself, lips red and slightly swollen, wet with spit. And they curl into a wide, shit-eating grin that makes Ten want to roll his eyes and kiss him again.

“Are we really gonna fuck in the studio?” he asks, big brown eyes so deep and warm.

“Unless you happen to have any lube or condoms in that bag of yours, absolutely not.” Ten leans in to lavish attention on Johnny’s warm skin, nipping at his neck and earlobe in a way that leaves him sucking in his breath. It sends a pang of desire, hot and pulsing, curling through Ten’s insides.

“Shit. Is your, ah, roommate home?”

Ten hums quietly, trying to remember Sicheng’s schedule for the day. But this proves difficult as Johnny’s hands start slowly kneading his hips, sliding ever closer to his bare ass. “I don’t honestly know. But even if he weren’t, I hate fucking at the dorms.”

“My parents aren’t home,” Johnny whispers, hot breath tickling the little hairs along the side of Ten’s neck and he shivers - until Johnny’s words settle in his overworked brain.

He draws back with a raised brow, trying to ignore the way everything about Johnny right now makes him that much more aroused. “Then why didn’t you suggest that in the first place, genius?”

“Because it’s like fifteen minutes away - “

“Oh my God, you are insufferable.”

Johnny tightens his grip on him, something dark flashing across his gaze, and Ten wants to fall into it. “You like it.”

“Shut up and take me home before I change my mind.”

**Author's Note:**

> smut coming in the next part! and i'll drop my twt and cc below; for now my twt is pretty strictly seventeen-centric and i can't promise that i'll publish much more nct content in the future but we'll see! i've got a johnten fwb in my head so....
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/scoups__ahoy) | [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/scoups__ahoy) | [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/serenawrites)!
> 
> let me know what you guys thought; leave a kudos or maybe drop a comment!
> 
> thank you! <3


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